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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745276">Ill Met By Moonlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seelieunseelie/pseuds/seelieunseelie'>seelieunseelie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Faeries - Freeform, M/M, Watford Seventh Year, first chapter un-beta'd, kicking as a form of communication, kicking as a form of unresolved sexual tension, really uncooperative and bratty magical fauna, teen boys being stupid, vampire stuff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:40:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27745276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seelieunseelie/pseuds/seelieunseelie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>On a mission from the Mage, Simon inadvertently treads on the wrong side of an unfriendly faerie. When he wakes up in the morning, he and Baz have switched bodies. They have to cooperate for the first time ever to dispel the curse and keep the whole thing quiet from their classmates. </p><p>A fic about perception, magical weirdness, vampirism, and being very romantically confused.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In my opinion there is never enough body swap fic so this yet another entry in that trope. This is also my first fic for this fandom! Aaaahhhh!! </p><p>PS I'm guessing this fic will be around 3 chapters but for now I'm unsure!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>My head is still spinning when I get in the door to our room. It’s a miracle I made up the winding staircase. It’s a miracle I made it across the </span>
  <em>
    <span>moat</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I actually sort of spill through the door, and fall into a heap right in the doorway with a groan.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Baz sits bolt upright, and you can tell he was dead asleep because his eyes aren’t open, even though he’s also frowning anyway. “Snow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I crawl over to my bed, but I actually think I should crawl into the bathroom because I think I’m about to be sick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Baz says. I see his feet touch down on the floor in my peripheral vision.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just sod off for </span>
  <em>
    <span>once</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” I say, but it doesn’t really sound like I mean it because my voice is so weak. “Please,” I add for good measure. I doubt I’ve ever said “please” to Baz in my life before now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I rest my head against the side of the bed, while I try and muster the strength to climb into it. It’s too much. Maybe I’ll just stay down here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Baz doesn't say anything. I hear rustling sheets as Baz gets back into bed without another word. Prick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The Mage called me into his office this morning - it’s the first time since term started and it’s already a week from our Samhain holiday break. It’s all right. I’m used to it. Sixth year he called me into his office only twice and one time it was after I found the sixth hare, and the other time he wasn’t even in his office by the time I got there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time he is though. In his office, that is. He’s standing at the arched window behind his desk, holding his wrist behind his back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The full moon only falls on Samhain once every nineteen years,” he said. No greeting. He never greets me, even though I haven’t seen him since my birthday. I like it though. It’s like Penny - he’s all business. I don’t really think he has many other similarities to Penny, but this idea is briefly so distracting I almost forgot he’s probably waiting for a response.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” I said. “All right.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turned around then to fix me with an evaluating stare. He’s good at those. It’s like he has X-ray vision. At least, that’s how it feels. I didn’t really know what he was thinking, which is why I was surprised when he says, “This is the year we rediscover the faeries, Simon. Do you know how I know that?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I fidgeted, bouncing my hand against my leg while I think. It’s been over a hundred years since the faeries were seen - everyone knows that. They don’t want to be found, and since they’re clever and supposedly more magically powerful than any mage, no one has come close. In other words, I have no clue why the Mage thinks we (or, in other words, Penny and I) are about to rediscover the fair folk. But I didn’t want to tell him that, and he expected me to at least guess.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because,” I began, slowly, as if I speak slowly enough it’ll give me enough time to figure out something to say. “The full moon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, he definitely knew I had no idea what’s going on.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The full moon is indeed favorable, but that isn’t quite it.” He walked over to me and rested his hands on my shoulders heavily. He had this wild sort of look in his eyes, and his lips were twitching like he wanted to smile but thought it would be too frivolous or whatever. “I have reason to believe that one of the fair folk might be found in the Wavering Woods at this very moment.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You do?” I say, which I didn’t think made me sound particularly intelligent, but I really was treading water here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Luckily the Mage wasn’t really looking for my input. He went on as if I hadn’t spoken at all, describing the faery circles he’s encountered in the woods over the past month and the strangely mangled animal carcasses he’s found within them. It’s work not to bring up Baz just then but I can tell he’d be unhappy if I did.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Entreat whomever you come across to come to the school, Simon,” he tells me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s why Penny and I ended up trawling the woods that night looking for faeries. Even though they haven’t been seen by anyone human in ages. And even though I’m not really sure why this is a task that </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to do, and not the Mage, or a magical scientist like Professor Bunce. I should just be glad the Mage is talking to me this year, that’s what’s important.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a long night though. We found a couple faery circles. I’ve never seen one before, but we looked it up in the library after classes this afternoon and we found some illustrations to go off of. The one we find is about two meters across. I nearly step into it , because the mushrooms around its perimeter are so little. Penny yanks me back by the elbow. “Careful!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know what happens when you step into (or on) a faery circle, but I know it’s something to avoid.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Anyway, it was nearly midnight before anything really interesting happened. Penny had got to the point where she just wanted to go to bed, and even though I thought she was right, I also wasn’t prepared to pack it in empty-handed. Besides, what was I supposed to say if the Mage asked for a status update the next day, and all I could tell him about is the faery circle? Which would’ve been useless since he already knew about that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Our pace had started to drag when we passed this big dead looking tree. Under the moonlight, I could see a jagged scar running the length of its trunk, splitting the bark, with a blackened shadow. Lightening probably. All its leaves had fallen off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I turned back to the path we were on, Penny was gone. I called for her as I walked on, and then doubled back, but I couldn’t find her, which has never happened in all the time we’ve spent in the Wavering Wood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once we were separated it was like the whole thing got all twisted up into a gnarled maze. It still looked like the woods, with trees and bracken and dirt and all that, but things weren’t where they should be. I kept crossing the stream in the woods, and not like I was walking back and forth across it, but like it kept somehow ending up right in front of me even as I walked linearly forwards.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The last time I came across the stream, there it was, crouched over the limp body of a doe.  It had the sleek, muscular body of a dog, but the head of a woman, with long vivid red hair. She had wild, yellow eyes that reflected the moonlight, with big black pupils. Her lips and chin were dark with blood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Also she was bigger than any dog or person I’d seen before. Standing there, she was practically the size of a horse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I’d already drawn the sword, but I didn’t know what to do with it. I couldn’t just start swinging at it, even if it was dead creepy, since I needed to find the faeries, not kill them</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at me, but not really in a way that looked friendly. “Hello, little morsel,” she said, and that didn’t sound very friendly either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From what I remember of our unit on the fair folk in Magical Biology class last year, this dog-woman was a púca - in other words a really dangerous trickster of the fair folk. Fuck, what else did I need to remember? Don’t tell her my name. Something about telling the truth, right? Either I can’t lie to a faery or they can’t lie to me. One of those.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Finally I just said, “I don’t want to hurt you.” I lowered my sword so she would know I meant it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She cocked her head. “No, you won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I must have already offended her, somehow, though. Before I could work out how I was going to convince her to come with me out of the woods, she leapt at me. I thought she was running away, so I lowered my stance, preparing to grab onto her, but I didn’t realize then that that was what she wanted.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At first it was like she ran through me, a hot wind that smelled green and bitter. But the feeling wouldn’t die down, and instead it got stronger, and it was like the colors of the forest and the night were streaking past my vision, streaking into a meaningless blur of calling animals, and falling stars and the water of the stream. I almost couldn’t breathe, otherwise I would’ve been screaming.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It felt like it went on forever. Like time itself had fallen behind me, while the púca carried me into the netherworld, oblivion, wherever the hell it is she came from. It felt like she cast me out of reality, and I’d just be falling against meaningless darkness and light forever and ever.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Next thing I knew, I’d landed hard on my back completely knocking the wind out of me. Everything was still sort of whirling around me, but I could tell I was back somewhere on Earth at least. It smelled like Earth, and was chilled like Earth, and it was night time. I wasn’t sure though until I heard someone’s voice, and then I realized it was my name, and it was Penny shouting it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It turned out the púca dumped me right where me and Penny got separated, near the tree struck by lightening. Penny hadn’t found anything at all, but she did hear something (me) come crashing through the woods, and chased it back to where she found me. The whole way back to Mummer’s House she tried to get details about the púca from me, but she stopped when I told her I’d sick up on her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I was a little over eager in getting her to leave once we were at the entrance to Mummer’s, and I insisted I could get upstairs fine on my own. Took me practically an hour to get all the way upstairs with all the stops and starts. It’s a miracle I didn’t throw up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>First thing I notice is off when I wake up is that I’m cold. I run warm, but I get really hot in my sleep, even in the dead of winter. Then I notice I’m wearing socks, which is extra weird because I’d never wear socks to bed, I can barely stand to keep my feet under the blanket as it is - but my feet feel especially cold. As I wake up more, more things start to feel weird, but it’s hard to put my finger on why. Like my knees feel weird. My nose and nostrils even feel kind of off. Body parts I don’t think about much when they’re not injured.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When I sit up more things are weird. I’m in Baz’s bed for one thing. That’s never happened before, even when I had trouble with sleep walking first and second year and woke up a few times in the en suite or even on the lawn once. I look over to my bed, and I almost don’t know what I’m looking at for a second.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s me. It’s got to be. I’m laying on my side, facing me, with my hair all wild with leaves and sticks tangled in it, still wearing my uniform (even the socks and shoes), and my hand tucked under my cheek. I’m snoring a little, and flushed because I’m probably warm from falling asleep in all my clothes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I look down at my hands, a cold realization falling over me. And yeah.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I know these hands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>These are Baz’s hands, his long, elegant hands, with his calloused fingertips and sandpapery fire-handling palms. I don’t need to run to the ensuite mirror to confirm what I suspect has happened, but I do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s worse looking in the mirror, and seeing Baz’s face making an expression I’d never seen him wear before: an expression of helpless confusion, made even worse by the fact I just woke up. His cheek is covered in a cross-hatch of sheet marks and his hair is half sticking up on one side and kinked and flattened sort of weirdly on the other side. I kind of start to laugh, but I stop because it’s weird to feel myself laughing, hear Baz laughing, and then see Baz laughing in the mirror - even though I’m the one who’s laughing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Merlin,” I say faintly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The real trick is finding out for certain if it’s Baz in my body, or if it’s something else. And if it’s something else what is it? And in that case where did Baz go? Merlin, I hope it’s Baz in there - at least that’s one less problem to sort out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I go to shake me awake. Or whoever it is.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, waving a hand at me. It’s my voice, but that’s got to be Baz. Can’t believe I’m actually relieved it’s Baz in there. At least it’s not a stranger, even if it’s my nemesis that’s got my body.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Baz, wake up. There’s a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sort of swats at me, and frowns without lifting his head or opening his eyes. “Piss off, Snow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously. Wake up.”  I give him another shake. Weird how warm I feel under my hand, almost feverish.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This time his swat connects with my chin, and he tries to give my face a bit of a shove. He sits up half-way, propping himself on his elbow, and scowls at me. I can’t tell if I actually scowl like that, or if it’s the way Baz scowls, but I feel like I haven’t seen that exact expression on my own face before. It’s weird.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then he takes in what he’s looking at, and his eyes pop open as he flinches back. “Crowley, what’ve you done, Snow?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It takes me a moment, because I’m sort of focused more on how weird his crisp accent sounds with my voice, to take in completely what he’s said. But then it sinks in and I’m pissed off.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How is this my fault? This has your name written all over it!” I can’t think of what he has to gain from a stunt like this, but this is exactly like Baz, to do something so useless, weird, and annoying just to fuck with me.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He starts wrestling with the tie around his neck, yanking at it feverishly. “You’ve been running around, interfering with and offending Crowley knows what, and now you’ve got us cursed. I didn’t even do anything, I wasn’t even there, I just had the misfortune of being your roommate. And you fell asleep fully dressed like some kind of sociopath.” He punctuates the syllables of this last insult by tugging ruthlessly on the tie until he manages to unravel it and chuck it onto the floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I frown. Now I’m going to have to retie it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what? I think you did do this,” I say, stabbing the air in front of his face with my finger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Baz rolls his eyes a bit over-dramatically at that, and smacks my finger out of his face. “Why the fuck would I do this, Snow? Honestly, tell me. What do I have to gain from this situation?”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” I tell him, “but I’ll find out, I promise you that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a complete joke,” he snarls at me. He makes a little aborted move like he was about to jump up and strangle or hit me, but then remembered the Anathema - or possibly that he would be strangling himself. He settles for just giving me a glare that would be more withering if it wasn’t on my face.“Of course it’s your fault, give me a break, Snow.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The night before is coming back to me now, actually, and it’s starting to occur to me I might have something to do with this situation after all. Not that I’m about to tell Baz that. At least not until I talk to Penny and only if she thinks it’s necessary to tell him otherwise he’ll never let me live this down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what would actually be helpful right now?” I say, trying to sound firm and not, you know. Guilty. “Trying to figure this out.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I go sit on his bed, cross my arms and glare at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Baz has closed his (my?) eyes, and rubs his temples, grinding his teeth. It’s the kind of controlled anger, the seething expression I see on Baz’s face all the time but it looks totally off on mine. I can tell what he’s going for, but it looks like he’s play-acting frustration when it’s my face - because I’d never make a face like that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe Penny’ll have an idea what we should do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes snap open. “We’re not telling anyone about this, are you insane?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But she could help!” I say, throwing my hands up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, this is humiliating enough, we don’t need to involve more people,” he says with a sneer (Doesn’t look right on my face, not any better than his show of suppressed anger or whatever that was).  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, we’ve got to figure out how to undo whatever this is,” I say. “I’m not going to be stuck as you forever. And I can’t have you running around with my face.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Baz scoffs. “If you think I feel the slightest bit better about this than you do, you’re mad. In fact, if I didn’t have a perfect attendance record to maintain there’s no chance we’d leave this room.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” I say. I very generously choose not to comment on what a complete swot Baz is (mainly because I’m getting anxious about how late in the morning it already is). “Well, if that’s it then I don’t want to miss breakfast.  I guess we can meet at the library after class and we can see what we find there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re not going anywhere until we agree to some ground rules,” Baz says as I get up. He gets up too, and side steps to block my path into the en suite. He looks like he’s trying to look fierce, but  I see the desperation too clearly through that - my face is too expressive for the kind of composure Baz is used to. Besides he’s still blushing, but I don’t know what that’s about anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ground rules?” I say, giving him a look as I try to step around him. He blocks me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. We can’t just go out there without agreeing to how we’re going to play this. It’ll be a complete disaster if we don’t - which is practically your brand, but it’s not mine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I breathe out a growly huff of air and focus on the anathema. I really just want to shove him over. I’m a vampire now, so I probably also have vampire super strength. But then it’d be my arse I’d be kicking, and I’d be the one suffering in the long run anyway - even if I wasn’t immediately expelled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Because I think it’d make me feel better I say, “Piss off.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His expression is smug, because he knows that’s the weakest comeback imaginable. “For starters you can’t go down there looking like that.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Obviously I’m not going to,” I say. “I’m still in your pajamas.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Crowley, I didn’t think I’d have to explain getting dressed, even to you. Of course you can’t leave here in my pajamas, Snow. What I meant is that you’ll have to fix my hair so it looks right. And…” He trails off, a funny expression crossing his face. This one I can’t read. He’s blushing again though. “I didn’t take a shower last night. You’ll… you’ll have to take one now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” I demand, and nearly choke on it. Oh, Merlin, I really hadn’t thought about this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop looking at me like that. I’ll have to take a shower too at the end of the day if we’re still stuck like this,” he says, his voice becoming cold and clipped. He’s schooled his expression into cool annoyance, but he can’t help that he’s still blushing. I’d be laughing at him if I wasn’t so bowled over.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t we just </span>
  <b>Clean as a Whistle</b>
  <span> until this gets sorted?” I say. I’m trying not to plead, but my tone is blatantly pleading anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whistles aren’t particularly clean, and that spell isn’t meant for personal hygiene in any case.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>I guess that’s what Penny would say too, which doesn’t make me feel any better. I don’t realize I’m reaching up to tug on my hair until I feel Baz’s hair under my finger tips, and I drop my hands. “Fucking hell,” I say.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, get over it,” Baz snaps. “Are your sensibilities seriously just </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking delicate you can’t handle a shower?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, of course they’re not,” I tell him, defensively. I don’t know why I’m getting defensive over this though I’m clearly in the right here.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, good. Make sure you leave the conditioner in for at least three minutes. And you need a shave. And comb your hair back while the conditioner is still in it or else it’ll get hopelessly tangled and you’ll look a mess. You should be taking notes.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can figure out how to wash your stupid hair, Baz.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks like he wants to argue, so I press on with my own concern. “What about Penny? She’ll notice if you’re not acting like me when you go down to breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve only lived with you for seven years, I’m sure I’ll manage,” Baz says dryly. “Just like you’ll have to manage with Dev and Niall.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess,” I say. Seems like kind of a rubbish plan, but I don’t know if there’s much more we can do to prepare ourselves. What do I even really need to know about Baz to pass as him anyway? That he’s a complete tosser? I’m well aware of that one already.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We find out how to get rid of this curse, and in the meantime we agree to not intentionally make the other look bad. Agreed?” Baz says, snatching the wand off his desk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All right,” I say, keeping an eye on his wand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He holds out his hand to me, and I realize what’s going on. I take his hand, and he casts </span>
  <b>An Englishman’s Word is His Bond</b>
  <span> over us, in a rush of stinging heat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>We drop hands quickly, glaring at each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>thank you times a billion to both <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias">aralias</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillmadaboutpetra/pseuds/stillmadaboutpetra">stillmadaboutpetra</a> for beta reading and basically holding my hand through the writing process. i literally would still be confused today if they hadn't helped me get my head on straight. u are both angels :,,,)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div>
  <p> </p>
</div><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>First I shove Snow into the ensuite with an armful of my clothing.</p><p> </p><p>I then point out the face wash, body wash, shampoo, and hair mask to use. I show him the wide-tooth comb hanging in the shower. I show him the toner, serums, and moisturizers, what products to put in my hair. I tell him the right spell to dry it that won’t cause heat damage. I tell him not to touch my eyebrows. That takes a practiced hand, and I’m willing to let a few errant hairs slide for now.</p><p> </p><p>It’s horrible looking at him as me - as Snow. He’s looking at me dully, as I explain what he needs to do, and I can tell he’s not taking it seriously, but I can’t keep looking at myself. At Simon. I’m seeing myself from odd angles, and my face is making shapes it doesn’t usually make, shapes it <em>shouldn’t</em> make. My face is all elastic with emotion. I see each of Snow’s thoughts pass over my face: flustered at first, then as I hand him each product, I can <em>see </em>him (me) thinking, <em>Another one? Really? </em>And then he’s thinking, dully, now, <em>I’m never going to remember all of these. </em>I shouldn’t be able to see anything on my face, except boredom or mild contempt, and he’s expressing all over it. Disgusting.</p><p> </p><p>On top of it all I’m hungry.</p><p> </p><p>Once the bathroom door has closed I go to Simon’s wardrobe, and try to dress as quickly as possible. (Predictably, his wardrobe is a complete mess. Nothing is hung up.) I don’t want to be here once he’s in the shower, because then I’ll be forced to think about him seeing me naked.</p><p> </p><p>Also, if I dress quickly I can’t ruminate for too long over my  proximity to a virtually naked Simon Snow. I could strip myself bare and just stand in front of the mirror on the inside of my wardrobe and look. Why not? He can’t stop me.  </p><p> </p><p>But I don’t do that. I think about it in graphic detail, but I just get dressed. I even close my eyes. The feeling of clothing sliding over my skin is giving me more information than I know what to do with as it is. His body is so — his <em>body</em> —</p><p> </p><p>However, I do check out my reflection after I’ve fully dressed to make sure I look as close to Simon’s usual sloppiness; I’ve left off the jumper that I normally wear under my blazer and left the top button on my shirt unbuttoned like Snow normally would do. I also tried to replicate the misshapen knot Snow usually applies to his tie, but I just can’t figure that one out. I don’t think Simon does anything to his hair once he rolls out of bed, but I cheat and finger-comb it a bit. It does look marginally better, but I’m not sure that I didn’t do it out of pure self-indulgence. It’s softer than it looks. Typical.  </p><p> </p><p>I hear the shower turn on, so I leave. I can’t believe Simon Snow is touching and looking at my naked body and I don’t even get to be there myself.  </p><p> </p><p>I’m not doing a particularly good job not thinking about it - any of it. My stomach is literally churning at the thought. Presumably I’ll be taking a shower tonight as well, and how do I expect to handle myself then? <em>Handle</em>. Crowley.</p><p> </p><p>I try to focus on how he’s probably completely fucking my hair up instead of  everything else going on in that shower right now.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Bunce is already seated when I arrive with my plate and silverware. She’s reading what looks like our Magic Words textbook and taking notes and she barely glances up at me as I take a seat - which is just as well since I’ve realized upon retrieving my eggs and toast that I’m absolutely ravenous. In fact, I don’t know how I had the restraint to get as far as sitting down before tucking in. I seriously considered just starting to eat as soon as I got out of line, but I don’t know if even Snow would be that uncivilized.</p><p> </p><p>This’ll be easy so long as Bunce doesn’t try talking to me.</p><p> </p><p>She gives me a proper glance this time. “Sorry, Simon, just triple checking my Magic Words essay.”</p><p> </p><p>I swallow heavily. “’S’alright.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the matter with you?” she says then, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why are you covering your mouth like that?”</p><p> </p><p>I drop my hand. Bloody force of fucking habit. I barely made it a full minute into this interaction and I’m already making a fool of myself. Or, Simon, as it were. In a move that I know for a fact the real Simon would execute in a similar situation - I stick my chin out at Bunce and clench my fists. “Nothing.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re acting weird,” she says, narrowing her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“No I’m not.” I am so obviously acting weird that I can’t think of a more compelling rebuttal than that.</p><p> </p><p>Penny studies me, frowning and wrinkling her nose, as if she can literally smell the bullshit I’m offering up to her.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, Wellbelove drops into the seat beside Bunce (which is a sentence I never thought I’d think, not a single part of it). “Good morning,” she says breezily, setting down her breakfast and tea.</p><p> </p><p>“‘Morning,” I say before Bunce can swoop in and alert Wellbelove to my suspiciously uncharacteristic behavior.</p><p> </p><p>Bunce’s mouth is hanging open, as if she’s getting ready to interject, but Wellbelove isn’t looking at Bunce, she’s preparing her cup of tea. “How did your Magic Words essays go?” she says.</p><p> </p><p>I start to answer, even though I haven’t planned out at all what I’m going to say, since I don’t want to let Bunce snatch even a word edgewise - but then I see myself walk into the dining hall, and I quite literally choke on my words.</p><p> </p><p>It is obvious Snow didn’t listen to a word I told him. He did a barely half-assed job of shaving my face, that has given rise to irritated little pink dots all along my jaw. And the disheveled way he’s let my hair fall, in frizzing, uneven waves...  I can’t believe we agreed with magic to try to not humiliate each other and this is the first thing he’s done. I thought I had given up the idea that I’d kill Snow when I realized I was in love with him, but I think I will absolutely have to kill him after all. Then I’ll kill myself since I obviously can’t live in a world that he doesn’t, but even more than that I don’t know how I’m expected to go on when he’s allowed me to appear in public this way.</p><p> </p><p>Too late I realize I’ve been staring at Simon/myself with intense scrutiny (to put it very, very mildly. I think “abject despair” may be more accurate). Bunce and Wellbelove have both turned round to see what I’m staring at, and I school my expression into something as neutral as possible, though I’ve never seen Snow expressing anything  that could be accused of being neutral.</p><p> </p><p>Agatha’s eyes turn sort of fiercely doll-like, as if she’s angry and her idea of composure is chips of colored plastic and painted on features. She’s terrifying.  </p><p> </p><p>Bunce on the other hand looks comically exasperated. “Honestly, Simon, we haven’t even finished breakfast and you already have a problem with Baz?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” I say. There’s not much else <em>to </em>say. I always thought Penny was in on Simon’s hysterical distaste towards me - but worse because she’s nearly as clever as I am.</p><p> </p><p>“Penny, don’t enable him, I’m begging you,” Agatha cuts in. She’s not even pretending that she isn’t angry now. She’s all flushed, and I have a terrible appreciation for the fact that I am momentarily a human and not a vampire.</p><p> </p><p>“The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can get on with our lives,” Penny says to Agatha.</p><p>I’m a bit offended on Simon’s (or is it my own?) behalf.</p><p> </p><p>“No offense, Simon,” Bunce then says to me. “Please tell us what Baz is plotting this time.”</p><p> </p><p>Agatha scoffs, but goes back to poking her breakfast with a mutinous expression. I think it’s very likely she’s thinking of jabbing me with her fork, the same way she’s jabbing her eggs.</p><p> </p><p>“He just has that look, as if he’s thinking of doing something nefarious,” I say. I even narrow my eyes at Simon, and he turns as if sensing my glare. He looks startled and quickly turns back to Dev and Niall. “He’s probably cooking up something to do to the Mage as we speak.”</p><p> </p><p>Bunce’s face is screwed up when I look back at her. “Nefarious, huh?” she says.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” I say. “That.”</p><p> </p><p>She chews on the end of her pen, narrowing her eyes at me. I can’t shake the creeping suspicion that Bunce has caught me out somehow. I knew I’d be better off if I didn’t have to talk to her. She’s too clever and I am, deep down, in my rotten heart of hearts, an imbecile.</p><p> </p><p>Agatha startles both of us when she throws her fork with a clatter, picks up her plate and teacup and gets up, with a muttered, “Honestly, the pair of you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>It took me probably ten minutes of just bracing my hands on the sink and mentally psyching myself up to turn on the shower. It helped that I was so cold standing there in my bare feet, so I became pretty eager to get under the warm water.</p><p> </p><p>I tried to just turn my brain off, which usually works, but I couldn’t stop noticing things. Not in a pervy way or anything. But he’s just really physically different than I am, and I’d mostly always attributed those differences to his vampirism. (No one looks that smooth playing football. No one looks <em>that</em> good in those poncy silk pajamas he wears.) Then I realized this was a truly once in a lifetime opportunity to prove Baz was a vampire and I decided I would notice anything that hinted at his blood-sucking nature. </p><p> </p><p>Between that and trying to remember every step of Baz’s routine, I don’t have a lot of mental space to process that I’m in a shower, naked, except really it’s Baz who’s naked. I’m relieved for the distraction, even if it’s also completely mental that Baz does this every morning. At least I’m more focused on whether Baz said to shave with or against the grain, and wait, didn’t he say there was a step before that, and what do I do with his hair once I’ve put the conditioner in it? At least I’m focused on all of that. I decide I’ll just fix my gaze straight ahead, no looking down. That’s difficult though too, mainly because it doesn’t feel natural. But also because, I’ll admit it, I’m curious.</p><p> </p><p>His body definitely <em>feels </em>different. I debate just skipping it, but I made a magical oath that I would <em>try</em>. And, like I said - I’m curious. I think to myself, <em>This is me looking for signs of vampirism. </em>Maybe he’d have a third nipple. Or is that witches? I guess that’s any mage then, but <em>I </em>don’t have a third nipple, and neither does Baz apparently. He does have chest hair, which just isn’t fair on top of all his other advantages. That’s not necessarily a sign that he’s evil though.  </p><p> </p><p>Once I’m out of the shower my memory starts failing me a bit. Baz lined up the products on the sink. I pick up one. It says it’s a <em>beauty essence, </em>whatever the fuck that is. I’m sure Baz explained it, but he threw a lot of information at me at once, and even though I’m still not hungry, I don’t want to completely miss breakfast either. I put on one liquid labeled “toner” that smells sweet and sharp and burns my face and makes me sneeze. I put on the beauty essence after that, but that stings too so I stop there. I can see in the mirror that little hectic pink dots are covering my jaw line where I admittedly did a subpar job shaving. In my defense, Baz has more facial hair than I do. Whatever. Sod this.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Dev and Niall are talking when I sit down across from them at breakfast. I’ve only just made breakfast in time to snag the last four scones, a small pile of bacon, three fried eggs, four kippers, and three sadly lukewarm pieces of toast. I pull out my chair by hooking my foot around the leg, since my hands are laden with plates, and I nearly tip the chair over. I guess that’s not very Baz-like, but it wasn’t my completely barmy idea to keep the curse a secret from everyone.</p><p> </p><p>Dev and Niall both fix me with odd stares as I arrange my breakfast carefully on the table around me. “Good morning,” I say. I raise an eyebrow at them because I can do that now.</p><p> </p><p>“All right,” Niall says mildly, even though his eyes say, “You’re being very fucking dodgy.”</p><p> </p><p>“You look like shit,” Dev says, less mildly.</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know how to respond to that - either as myself or as Baz. He always refers to his friends as his minions, and that’s not something your minion would say, I don’t think.</p><p> </p><p>“I wasn’t going to say anything,” says Niall, laughing, “But he’s right, mate. You’re freaking out the Chosen One.”</p><p> </p><p>I glance over my shoulder and make eye contact with Baz, who looks ready to have an aneurysm.</p><p>I turn back to Dev and Niall, and get to slathering one of my pieces of toast in butter. “Not sure what his problem is.” I think I can do this if I don’t have to look at either one of them. I hate Baz’s friends almost as much as I hate Baz. Maybe even more, because as far as I can tell they live to kiss Baz’s arse, and aren’t even properly villainous the way Baz is. They’re just a couple of twats listening to an even worse twat.  </p><p> </p><p>“Right,” Dev says.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s probably just hungover.”</p><p> </p><p>At first I’m confused because I think they’re talking about Baz as me, but when I look up, the way they’re looking at me makes it clear they’re referring to me as Baz. I’m almost more distracted by the idea of somehow missing Baz being hungover, to spring on this opportunity - if I let them think I’m hungover then maybe I’ll get away with pretending I’m Baz.</p><p> </p><p>“So what if I am? Fuck off.” I’m pretty sure Baz would actually say that, and at this point that’s what I’m dying to tell Dev and Niall anyway.</p><p> </p><p>They both laugh, which is not the reaction I was looking for or expected. I mean, what the fuck? These minions are shit.</p><p> </p><p>I’m so thrown off that for the rest of breakfast I just sit there while Dev and Niall talk. I thought I would gain some important intel about their plots against the Mage, but they’re just talking about football, and their stupid eighth year spell ideas. Niall keeps trying to get my input on his idea of finding a spell that would turn any window into a TV or computer screen.</p><p> </p><p>I’m not even that hungry, and being confused always makes me especially hungry. But the smell of the kippers is so rich that I can feel it sliding down my gullet like pan grease. I love kippers usually, but there’s something unusually briny about these ones. Maybe they came out of a can.</p><p> </p><p>I spear a single kipper on a fork, and then Baz’s fangs drop. That’s all it takes. They cut the inside of my lip. I can’t believe all it took for me to get proof, unarguable proof, is some kippers. That and the switching bodies thing. It would take no effort to use my advantage, show everyone I was right about Baz’s vampirism. There’ll be no more misdirection, no more doubt, there’s no convincing me I’ve been paranoid or delusional.</p><p> </p><p>But the thought kills the little appetite I’d managed to work up, and the fangs retract again.</p><p>Dev and Niall don’t seem to notice any of this. They’re still talking about the stupid spell. They’re really not very attentive as far as minions go.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>I don’t know what I’ve done to tip Bunce off, but she’s been watching me like a hawk since breakfast. Unfortunately, Simon has all his classes with Bunce this year, which means she has ample opportunity to suspiciously observe me. She doesn’t try to talk to me, she just watches me with increasing intensity. By the time we get to Greek I’m sweating. Or maybe it’s just really bloody hot in this classroom. I’ve always liked Greek because of how warm it is on this side of the White Chapel, but today, in Snow’s body, it’s stifling.</p><p> </p><p>Snow is sitting in my seat, a row ahead of me to my left. He’s sitting oddly, but I think it’s his attempt to sit with my posture - rigid, but his shoulders look sort of hunched by his ears. That’s not how I sit, he’s over-correcting. He usually sits leaning back in his chair, knees spread, and fiddling with his pencil or wand. (Which is a terrible idea for someone with the caliber of magic he’s capable of. He’s lucky he hasn’t beheaded anyone like that.)</p><p> </p><p>I’m trying to write him a note, first to tell him to sit straighter, and second to warn him about Penny. I can feel her eyes trying to rip a hole through the shield of my right hand so she can see what I’m writing. I keep scooting my notebook to the other edge of the desk we’re sharing, but she has no manners or compunctions about leaning into my space to try to  look over my shoulder. A sticky taste like burnt pine sap coats my tongue - it tastes like Simon’s magic.</p><p> </p><p>Bunce hasn’t taken her eyes off me since breakfast. If anything, she’s watching me even closer by the second, weighing my every breath for signs of… I don’t even know what, honestly. I doubt she could intuit the outlandish truth. I thought she was watching the Minotaur more closely for a moment, since he was passing back our essays from last week, but when I try to take the opportunity to pass my very urgent note to Snow, she intercepts it.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t start anything in the middle of class, Si, Nicks and Slick,” she mutters, as she shoves my balled up note back into my hand. “This isn’t sixth year.”</p><p> </p><p>My breath leaves me, and I fist the note in a trembling, sweaty hand.</p><p> </p><p>She casts me another look, wrinkling her nose. “Your magic is leaking, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The only two classes we don’t take together are Baz’s Advanced Conjuring course and French (also advanced, because of course it is). The first one I do all right in I think, but he had an oral presentation due in French class that I definitely failedI don’t speak a word of French - I can barely speak Greek and I’ve been taking it since I was eleven.</p><p> </p><p>Baz can make his excuses later. The main thing that’s been giving me trouble is Baz’s bloodlust. At the start of the day it didn’t really bother me. It took me a while to identify what it was that was going on - the sensitivity to smell and sound, my aching gums, a tightening in my gut. It’s not like it was at breakfast - my fangs don’t just pop out, but I can feel them. It’s like when my wisdom teeth were coming in over the summer between fourth and fifth year and I had to wait ‘til school started up before I could get them removed.</p><p> </p><p>I was partnered with Niall in Alchemy class and he leaned near me to see what I was writing down on our lab worksheet. I froze because I could practically feel Niall’s pulse tapping me on the shoulder, a warm, insistent finger. I’d been almost shivering with cold all morning and just then for a moment, I could imagine being warm again. My fingertips were grey on the black top, but Niall’s I could see were pink with blood.</p><p> </p><p>I got up and left class. I went back to our room to think about what to do. But I could smell blood there too. I think. Worse, I’m pretty sure it was <em>my</em> blood, my human blood, which freaked me out, thinking about how Baz has been sharing a room with me all this time <em>smelling my blood</em>. I make some notes of what it feels like, for later when I’m back to being human. I’ll figure out what I’m going to do about Baz being a vampire then. I don’t want to think about whose blood I’ll have to drink for this feeling to go away - so I don’t think about it.</p><p> </p><p>I find Baz as he gets out of his last class of the day. He’s looking pissed off before he’s even seen me, and I can smell my magic, humid and green in the air. People are giving him looks, and everyone let out of his class behind him are all giggly and glassy-eyed.</p><p> </p><p>I see Penny break off to get a drink from the water fountain outside of the classroom. Baz stalks towards me but I don’t think he’s spotted me yet. He’s completely forgotten about Penny, which is good even if it’s also really rude.</p><p> </p><p>I grab his sleeve, yanking him a little harder than I meant to into the alcove I’m standing in. Over his shoulder I can see Penny looking around, confused, before she wanders off in the opposite direction. It’s a relief she didn’t see us, but that makes me feel like a shit friend - on top of all the other deception.</p><p> </p><p>Baz gets my attention by giving me a shove and when I turn to him there’s a light red haze of magic hanging in the air between us. This alcove was a bad idea. The heat of his magic is compounding the smell of his blood (it’s definitely my blood I smelled in our room, all fatty, salty and sweet) and it’s trapped here with me. I can fucking taste it.</p><p> </p><p>“Where the fuck did you go?” he demands. “You can’t just <em>skip</em> class, some of us —”</p><p> </p><p>“Baz, you’ve got to calm down,” I tell him. I reach up to my hair, but it’s not the right texture under my fingers because it’s Baz’s hair. (I keep doing that. His hair’s all silky and heavy. Nice for running your fingers through, but not for grabbing like mine is.) I clench my hands at my sides. “You’ll go off.”</p><p> </p><p>He goes still, and for a moment it’s worse. The smell burns my nose like real smoke, and my tongue feels heavy and stupid in my mouth. It’s good in a way, though, because it blocks out his blood smell (<em>my </em>blood smell). But Baz releases a shaky breath closing his eyes, and some of the color recedes from the air.</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t let it get that bad,” I tell him.</p><p> </p><p>He opens his eyes. He says, “Your magic is seriously fucking broken.” His shitty little comment seems to have calmed him down the rest of the way and, even though it makes me want to hit him, I don’t. If he’s about to go off just because I wasn’t in class for half the day, I can’t imagine how he’d react if I gave him a black eye. It’s my face that I’d bruise anyway.</p><p> </p><p>I take a deep pull of air to dispel the distracting swell of annoyance. I came here for a reason -- because Baz agreed to help me figure out how to undo this curse.</p><p> </p><p>“We should go,” I tell him, stepping out of the alcove, where the air is clearer still. “I don’t know how long we’ll be stuck there looking for leads.”</p><p> </p><p>We walk to the library in silence. I can tell he’s getting tense again, casting glares in my direction the whole walk. I try to ignore it. Penny always says that I’m just giving Baz what he wants when I pay attention to him, that he’d go away if I stopped, but it’s hard to ignore him. It’s basically impossible. And I also don’t want him to go away at the moment, since I need his help.</p><p> </p><p>We find a corner in the back of the library with an empty table and take our seats. Baz roughly shucks his blazer, but then hangs it very carefully over the back of his chair, and sits down sort of stiffly. Primly, even. I watch him draw a notebook and pencil out of my backpack. Baz’s armpits are visibly damp with sweat which is weird to see. Sort of embarrassing really, since they’re really <em>my </em>armpits at the end of the day. But the library usually feels like a sauna to me, and I always sweat when I’m in the library.</p><p> </p><p>Except, right now I’m freezing my bollocks off. (Baz’s bollocks. Oh, Christ.) I can see the window next to our table is open at the top, which is about two metres over our heads, which I guess is a good job since it’s letting some air in and the smell of Baz’s blood out. Merlin, this is worse than it was with Niall. I can’t think about it. I can’t <em>not </em>think about it. It smells better than anything I smelled this morning at breakfast <em>or </em>at lunch. I turn my head, taking a sip of air.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been thinking,” I whisper. I need to tell him about the púca last night even though I really don’t want to. He’s not trustworthy, but I don’t want the Mage to know I got into a mess like this either and I don’t know who else to go to, since I swore I wouldn’t tell Penny.</p><p> </p><p>Baz is sort of blocking his eyes with the flat edge of one hand, and turning the pages of the notebook quickly - angrily really. He looks up from under the shadow of his palm, curling his lip, which reminds me again that it’s him in there.</p><p> </p><p>“Is that even possible?” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re still being all stroppy,” I lean across the table so he can hear me. But then I lean back because he’s radiating warmth, the clarion warmth of blood.</p><p> </p><p>He closes the notebook with a loud snap, shielding his eyes again. “I can’t look at you. I don’t know how you’ve done it without triggering the truce, but I can’t believe you left the room letting me look like that.”</p><p> </p><p>I look down at myself, frowning.</p><p> </p><p>“Baz, you look fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He drops his hand. He looks a bit mad, face flushed, and his eyes crazy blue. “Is that right? Did you put on a single drop of moisturizer? I can see my pores from here, even with your completely mediocre eyesight. You’ve let me look like an absolute cretin.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t even need all those stupid products, it’s a waste of money ,” I hiss. “And I don’t look like a <em>cretin</em>. You look better like this anyway, so sod off. ”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>You</em> sod off!” he snarls in a fierce whisper.</p><p> </p><p>I kick him under the table, hard.</p><p> </p><p>Baz gets one good shin-kick in before Penny drops into the seat next to him. We both freeze, turning to look at her as she spreads her books out on the table top.</p><p> </p><p>“You two are being awfully noisy,” she whispers, looking at Baz and then at me. She sniffs the air, glancing back at Baz. “Your magic is leaking.”</p><p> </p><p>Baz shakes his head at me, almost imperceptibly because he can read my expression, even when it’s on his face and not mine.</p><p> </p><p>“Penny,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t listen to him. He’s up to something,” Baz says. It’s not a great impression of me.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s going on? Tell me the truth.” She turns to me when she says it and I know I’m screwed.</p><p>I try to not look over at Baz, because I can see him staring at me even in my peripheral vision and I know that would look suspicious - but Penny’s looking at me with so much focus she’s not even blinking.</p><p> </p><p>“The faerie did something to me last night.” I say it in a rush, like Penny’s spelled it out of me. I feel my shoulders drop and I sag in my chair, it’s that much of a relief to finally tell her. Just as quickly though a bolt of pain shoots up my arm. It crackles with the electrical malice of a magical oath broken. I jerk, clutching my arm to my chest, grimacing.  </p><p> </p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Snow, you didn’t even try to keep it together.” Baz drops his face into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Penny turns to look at Baz, wide-eyed, and then turns back to me. Her eyes glimmer, as she takes in my expression, my posture, all the little details I got wrong. I expect her to be annoyed I got into such a mess, and made it into an even bigger mess, but she looks sort of hurt --  like I kept it from her because I’d rather work with my fucking nemesis rather than my best friend.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Simon, why didn’t you say? Why are you sneaking around with Basil?” </p><p> </p><p>“Wait - we’re not going to talk about the faerie first?” Baz says “You’re saying a faerie cursed you. A creature that hasn’t been seen since Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s time.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” I say slowly.</p><p> </p><p>He puts his fingertips to his temples, but he’s still looking at me, brow wrinkled with an almost pained confusion. “Crowley below, what did you do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nothing!” I say too loudly so both Penny and Baz shush me. “I didn’t do anything, I hardly said anything before it — before she cursed me.”  </p><p> </p><p>Baz narrows his eyes. “I’m sure you’re perfectly innocent.”</p><p> </p><p>“Guys,” Penny interjects, threateningly. “Focus, please.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t believe you lasted hardly two seconds,” Baz says, casting a sneer in Penny’s direction.</p><p> </p><p>“She could help!”</p><p> </p><p>Penny’s watching us, looking both a bit fascinated and amused because we’re obviously a freak show. She pushes her glasses up as she turns to Baz. “So you’re really Baz, then.”</p><p> </p><p>He’s still glaring at me. “Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was wondering. You’ve been acting so strangely all day. I couldn’t figure it out.”</p><p> </p><p>Baz turns his glare on Bunce now. “My impression of Snow was more than adequate, thank you very much. Snow on the other hand hardly made an effort.”</p><p> </p><p>Penny grimaces at me. “Yeah, what are you going for exactly, Simon?”</p><p> </p><p>“I just told people I’m hungover,” I say. “I can’t believe you’re siding with <em>Baz</em> right now, Penny.”</p><p> </p><p>“You told people <em>I’m hungover</em>?” Baz demands, flushing deeply. Already our corner of the library is clouding with the smell of my magic. I give him a kick under the table, and he swiftly kicks me back.</p><p> </p><p>Penny’s foot joins the fray, bludgeoning my shin with the thick shit-kicker sole of her Doc Marten mary janes. She swivels to do the same to Baz, and he gives her a wounded expression.</p><p> </p><p>“Did you two come in here just to bicker? Because I’m sure there’s somewhere better suited to that than the library,” Penny says.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” I tell her. “We came here to research. And figure out what to do, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you found anything?” Penny says. “Or have you two just been sitting here arguing?”</p><p> </p><p>“We only just got here when you did,” I mutter.</p><p> </p><p>“Right,” says Penny. “Well, we have until dusk before the púca will come out again. We better get started.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dusk?” I say.</p><p> </p><p>“Faeries are twilight creatures, remember?” Penny explains.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s literally first year Magical Biology, Snow,” Baz says around an unconvincing sneer. I wish he’d stop making that face when it’s my face. It’s embarrassing to look at.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, you didn’t know that either,” I hiss at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Would <em>both</em> of you shut up?” Penny says. She stands up. “We have research to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Baz and I glower at each other and then slowly get up to follow Penny into the stacks. She’s right - even if I’m also right. Baz is such a dickhead.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>There’s no way to determine what, if any, of the information we uncovered this afternoon will help us. The only thing we know for certain is that ours is not the first case of such a curse at the hands (or paws, if Snow is to be believed, since he informed us this faerie is a púca) of one of the fair folk.</p><p> </p><p>Tea isn’t even being served before I become distractingly hungry. Hungry enough that my stomach is turning over into nausea. I snap my book closed. “I’m going to tea,” I tell Bunce and Snow.</p><p> </p><p>“They don’t serve tea for another ten minutes,” Bunce says, frowning down at her watch.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’ll be first in line then,” I snap at her as I pack up my backpack. Now that food is imminent, my hunger has become somewhat hysterical. I drop my pencil three times trying to put it into the outside pocket of the backpack.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Bunce says, closing her book.</p><p> </p><p>Simon closes his book. “I guess I’ll come with. Even though I haven’t been properly hungry all day.” He punctuates this with a baleful glower in my direction, even though it’s completely his fault we’re in this stupid situation to begin with. And honestly, he ought to be relieved to have a break from the ruthless pace of his appetite. If anything this is a burden, and I’d have appreciated a little warning.</p><p> </p><p>But then what he says catches up with me. “You will not,” I say. “You need to stay here. You know we’d never normally be seen together - it’s bad enough we’ve been here since class let out.”</p><p>Simon rolls his eyes and slumps back in his seat. He scowls down at the book in front of him, mindlessly flicking a page. “Enjoy your tea,” he mutters.</p><p> </p><p>“I will,” I tell him, curling my lip. Before I leave I make sure to tell him to sit up straighter. He’ll ruin my posture sitting like that.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>I think Bunce is expecting me to talk to her during tea but I’m too busy stuffing Snow’s face and trying to avoid conversation with her. It’s one thing to impersonate Snow when she’s none the wiser, but it’s another thing entirely when she knows.</p><p> </p><p>The worst thing is that - apparently – she’s <em>terrible </em>at hiding anything. Surely,  she’s tagged along on enough missions with Snow that a subterfuge at this level should be simple. But it appears I over estimated Bunce.</p><p> </p><p>She keeps looking over her shoulder when she’s not looking over mine.</p><p> </p><p>Rhys stopped by our table to say “Hi,” and before I could so much as acknowledge his presence, she launched into a confused series of inane questions about some class assignment, spoken in an increasingly breathy, high-pitched voice - which ended in a coughing fit. He gave her an odd look before moving on.</p><p> </p><p>I eat three scones before the edge of hunger has been dulled, but I’m nowhere near full and I have a terrible suspicion that I’ll be hungry again much, much sooner than later. It’s not worse than bloodthirst, but it really is a fucking nuisance.</p><p> </p><p>But then it’s time to go collect Snow from the library. </p><p> </p><p>Snow walks ahead of Bunce and I as we make our way to the Wood. There’s a bite of blue frostiness in the air, especially in the shadows, while the setting sun is gilding Watford’s ramparts, the branches and dried leaves skittering across our path. My breath catches thick and blue in the autumn chill.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>SIMON</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Baz and Penny are behind me, I’m leading the way. I’m not really sure about where I’m going. I think this is the way. I really just need the fresh air.</p><p> </p><p>In the library, earlier, a cluster of first years sat at a table nearby so they could whisper at each other without drawing the attention of Madam Bissett, the librarian. It probably wouldn’t bother me if my hearing wasn’t so magnified. But I hear a rushing noise, like water, a noise coming and going wetly, making its circuit, from toe to brain. My eyes are trained on the page, but the words aren’t what I’m reading. I’m probing the air for blood because I can’t taste it or feel it.</p><p> </p><p>I can’t believe Baz goes through this every day. I focus on that. On Baz feeling bloodlust so it’s not just me.</p><p> </p><p>I didn’t do anything though. I realized that I could choose not to, even though it hurt to resist. Worse than going without food I think.</p><p> </p><p>That’s why as we walk through the Wood I stay away from Baz and Penny. Even though I can hear their low voices. Why is Baz talking to Penny? Why is Penny talking to <em>Baz</em>? I look over my shoulder so Baz knows I’ve got my eye on him - even if my back is to him. He meets my stare every time. I’m pretty sure vampires have to maintain eye contact with you to put you under their thrall, so at least I know he’s not trying to enthrall Penny.</p><p>Except, <em>I’m </em>the vampire. I stop turning around once I remember that.</p><p>This far in the Wood it’s practically dark as night, even though beyond the bare branches the sky is light purple with little clouds edged in orange. I know we’ve found the lightning-struck tree, even in the gloom because a diamond of charred branches are punched out of the surrounding forest, letting in the sunset.</p><p>The púca is crouching in the branches, like she’s been waiting for us. I guess she must’ve been. Her hair really is the color of fresh blood, like blood on snow, and it moves strangely, as if there’s a breeze, or it’s underwater, shimmering as it catches the fading light.</p><p>She waits for us to gather at the bottom of the tree. I wish I’d told Baz how to draw the Sword of Mages.(Can Baz draw the Sword of Mages? Or can I still draw it?) I guess I have his wand though, but for all our research, mages really don’t know much about faery magic. All we do know is that they don’t need wands.</p><p>She doesn’t seem confused at all about who’s who. She’s looking right at me, smiling with closed, red lips. She says, “Thought I scared you off last night.”</p><p>I can hear Baz and Penny slow to a stop behind me. “Morgana,” Penny whispers. She never saw the púca last night, and even if she had, there’s something about seeing her while the sun is still out, if only just. She has a face like something you’d mold out of clay, but not flesh, and she’s got those feline eyes.</p><p>“Shall we play another game?” She steps down to the branch below, muscles moving fluidly under her silky pelt. Her fur isn’t really black like I thought. It’s like a raven’s wing, glossy dark blue and green. Her eyes flash like coins as she moves.</p><p>“Turn us back,” I call to her. “You’ve had your fun, all right?”</p><p>“Have I?”</p><p>This is so fucking annoying. Is this how she’s going to be the whole time?  </p><p>Penny kicks me in the ankle from behind.</p><p>“I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn’t know there were any faeries in the Wavering Wood. I didn’t mean to intrude.” It’s hard to sound like I mean it. Cursing me seems a little drastic for a simple misunderstanding. I guess I’ve been cursed loads of times for less.  </p><p>The púca takes her time answering, walking out on her branch with measured, silent steps, even though it bounces under her step. She walks out far enough on it that it should break under her weight, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t even dip more than a foot down towards us. She’s practically directly over my head so I have to tilt my head all the way back to look at her, and I feel weirdly conscious of how vulnerable my neck feels at this angle. I take a step back.</p><p>“I’ll turn you back if you do something for me in return,” she says.</p><p>I glance over my shoulder at Penny and Baz. Penny is frowning. Businesslike. She nods. We’ve been here before. Not with a faerie maybe, but magical creatures are always trying to make a deal with you. Usually they want your soul in exchange for whatever it is they’ve got. It’s possible to get your soul back after you’ve traded it, but it’s not easy, and it’s shit not having a soul. I always get acid reflux.</p><p>Baz on the other hand looks legitimately nervous. His eyes cut to Penny and back to me. I give him a look that hopefully communicates to stick a sock in it.</p><p>I turn back to the púca and say, “Like what?”</p><p>“I require provisions,” she says, “in order to return to the Otherworld.”</p><p> “Okay…” I don’t want to look back at Penny and Baz again, because it’ll make me look like a tit, but I’m worried “provisions” is just another word for virgin sacrifice. Penny lost her virginity to Micah (even though Penny says virginity is a patriarchal construct, I don’t think the fair folk know that) and I bet Baz has had sex with loads of girls. I’m the only virgin here, so it won’t be hard for the púca to choose whose heart to cut out and flay over a bonfire. “What, er, kind of provisions?”</p><p>“First I need dandelion wine. I also will need a honeycomb - preferably with a drowned queen bee, but time is of the essence and I suppose I can do without,” she says. She’s tilted her face down to look at me, and in the shrinking light, all I can really see are her bright yellow eyes and red hair.</p><p>“Is that everything?” I ask.</p><p>“No.” She juts her chin forward, out of the shadow of her hair. Her face is incandescent. “You will not tell your master you encountered me here.”</p><p>I’m glad I’m not myself right now - I can almost feel my neck and ears turning hot. I’ve never lied to the Mage before - not about something like this. Not something he specifically asked me to do, and I’m this close to following through on, I just haven’t figured out how I’m going to do it yet.</p><p>Before I figure out whether I can risk lying to the faerie, Baz answers for me. “That won’t be a problem.”</p><p>I can’t help it. I glare at Baz over my shoulder. “<em>Baz</em>.”</p><p>“I am pleased to hear it.” I turn back to the púca, but I don’t know what to say. Even being in Baz’s body doesn’t keep the words from jamming in a clod of indignation in my throat. Fucking Baz. Doesn’t know you can’t just agree to things with magical creatures like this.</p><p>But now it’s too late. I couldn’t get the words out that would undo it, and the púca is climbing back up the branch and to the center of the tree, towards the charred crevice in the tree, the part the lightning hit.</p><p>“Wait,” I call to her. But by the time I get that one word out, she’s already disappeared into the shadows.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>please come bug me on <a href="https://unseelieseelie.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> :::::)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr @unseelieseelie :~)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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